


Of Moths and Flames

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [18]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Light BDSM, Light Pain Play, M/M, Making Love, Unrequited Crush, breaking up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 03:39:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16526588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: Garak finally learns of the mysterious daughter of Dukat's intentions and discovers that sometimes more knowledge simply means more complications. Swamped with work and facing some of the largest challenges of his career to date, Julian struggles to salvage what he can of his personal life while performing his duties and keeping his oaths. Can he manage, or has at least one of his partners had enough?





	Of Moths and Flames

**Part I**

_Garak  
Quark's Bar  
Holosuite Two_  
   
Garak felt slightly ridiculous after weeks of worry and paranoia culminating in the potential for a shooting. The intense heat of the Cardassian sauna program washed over him like a benediction, uncoiling muscle and baking away his tension. He lay on the flat rock curled on his side, facing the girl opposite him, Dukat's daughter, Ziyal. Her warm, dusk blue eyes were nothing like her father's. In truth he saw very little of the father in the daughter, save perhaps for her boldness now that they were finally speaking. Those long weeks of stake outs he realized now weren't timidity on her part but intelligent caution. Kira and Dukat both had warned her of his nature and his role in her grandfather's death. Had she rushed into an association, he would have found her very unwise in the face of that information.  
   
By mutual, unspoken accord, they avoided that topic. He regaled her with tales of formal balls, social events that glittered on the surface and disguised potentially deadly games of advantages sought, scores settled, and the surprisingly fluid boundaries within Cardassia's apparent stratification. She was a rapt audience, and he could see that which Leeta had warned him about on more than one occasion. Her fascination was not entirely confined to his knowledge of her father's homeworld.  
   
She sat up and stretched languidly, favoring him with a curious look. “I don't see how you could stand it,” she said. “All that maneuvering, no one what he seems. For my part, the hostility on Cardassia was anything but veiled. My mother warned me that Father's world wasn't what I hoped it would be. I didn't want to hear it. I had such grand plans and ideas of how I'd somehow win them over some day after we had been on Lissepia for a while and when Father came to get us. I guess I was hopelessly naïve.”  
   
Naïve, perhaps, but not without considerable charm, he reflected. “You wound up in a Breen labor camp,” he said reasonably. “I would think that having plans, any plans, was a good way to avoid the trap of despair. How could you have known? Even your mother had only heard of Cardassia, not been there herself. I personally take second-hand accounts with a healthy dose of skepticism.”  
   
Her smile blossomed suddenly and fully, completely transforming her features to something stunning. “That was exactly my reasoning. She didn't know.” The smile faded as quickly as it had come, but traces of it lingered somewhere in the set of her eyes. “You're not at all what I expected, either. I watched you for a long time.” It was strangely endearing that she truly seemed to believe that she needed to tell him this. “You confuse me, though.”  
   
He smiled faintly. “You're not the first person to say that to me. Tell me, dear, have you had enough of the heat yet?”  
   
“I never thought I'd say this, but yes,” she said. “Can we go to the Replimat? I'm hungry and thirsty. I...it's still hard to get used to the idea that there's plenty to eat and drink now, just for the taking. Sometimes I go too long, worrying that it'll run out.”  
   
He sat up first then climbed to his feet and retrieved his phaser, tucking it away at the back of his belt. She was an odd combination of openness and guile. He didn't feel yet as though he had nearly the measure of her, and it made him lean toward caution in his responses. “There's an aspect of that to Cardassia's history, too. You should ask your father about hungry times when you get the chance.”  
   
She stood and circled the rocks to stand before him. “I don't think I'm going to get much chance to speak to Father given what he's doing. You could tell me instead.”  
   
“Perhaps another time,” he said, offering her his arm. “For now let's tend to your hunger.”  
   
She accepted his answer without argument and threaded her hand through the crook of his elbow. They descended the stairs together in silence, and he watched her looking around at the bar and the people in it. There was something nearly bird-like about her scrutiny. “Uh oh,” she muttered, her grip on him tightening.  
   
He didn't have to ask her what she meant. He saw the subject of her concern weaving through the crowd toward them on swift feet with a very hard look in her eyes. In such moods, Major Kira was no one to trifle with. “Ziyal,” the woman said tersely, “would you go get yourself something to drink at the bar, please? I'd like a word with Garak.”  
   
He opened his mouth to speak, but the girl beat him to it. “I'm sorry, Nerys, but no. Garak and I are going to the Replimat. If you'd like to join us, I'd love the company.”  
   
Kira's look at Garak was pure venom, as though she suspected him of putting Ziyal up to saying such a thing. He was just as surprised as she, not having expected her to show such backbone when faced with the slender woman's wrath. He schooled his features to mildness, inwardly irritated that the woman was so quick to jump to the worst sort of conclusion. “No, I don't think so,” she said, shooting the girl a look that promised later confrontation.  
   
Ziyal didn't relax her hold until Kira was well away from them. She glanced up at him. “I'm sorry for that,” she said. “I'm going to work on her about it, but it's probably going to take some time.”  
   
“You think?” he asked dryly. They resumed their path toward the exit. He didn't try to speak to her again until they were out of the press of the crowd and the noise. “She has her reasons for being concerned, as we touched on before,” he said. “She's trying to look out for you.”  
   
“I'm grateful for everything Nerys has done for me, but I'm my own person. I can make my own decisions about who I spend time with. My mother is dead, and I don't need or want another. I don't want to talk about Nerys anymore. Tell me more about Cardassia. What was it like for you growing up?”  
   
So it was story time. He was good at that. Smiling more to himself than at Ziyal, he launched into one of his most entertaining fictions to date. He kept the girl enthralled for well over two hours before the late hour persuaded both of them to call it an evening and part ways amicably. He had to admit that he had enjoyed himself and looked forward to their next meeting. It had been a very long time since anyone had charmed him so thoroughly and easily. He was content to allow it and to leave it at that, heading home lighter in spirits than he had been in years.  
   
_Julian  
Leeta's Quarters_  
   
“All I'm saying,” Julian said, struggling to keep his tone reasonable, “is that I think he's being foolish. Agreeing to meet her in a holosuite? No, no one will see anything unsavory in that.”  
   
In the process of getting dressed for work, Leeta paused, a hand on her hip and a limp legging hanging from her fingers. “You mean the same holosuites in which you spend so much time with Miles? Or Miles spends with Odo? Or Dax with Kira? I could go on, but I think you get my point,” she said, moving to sit on the side of the bed and snug the partially opaque legging up a shapely leg.  
   
“No one would ever suspect anything of all of us because...” He cut off at her very arch look. “What? What's that look about?”  
   
“If you think nobody has ever said anything about you and Miles, I have to believe you've deliberately ignored it,” she answered with a sniff. “That's beside the point. Who cares what people say? Fire, Julian, who cares if there is something going on? That's between Garak and Ziyal.”  
   
He barked out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “I think Major Kira and Gul Dukat might have something to say about it. And why haven't you ever told me people were spreading rumors about me and Miles? Didn't you think I might like to know?”  
   
She held off on answering until she could pull her tight top over her head and get it settled properly. “If you wanted to know, you'd know,” she said. “As for Dukat, he's not here. He left his daughter behind, and Kira, no matter how well intentioned she might be, isn't Ziyal's mother. The girl is of age. What she does and with whom is her business.”  
   
“Garak is old enough to be her grandfather,” he sputtered.  
   
“How old were you when the two of you first sparked?” she asked dryly. “Personally, I think you're jealous, and it's very unbecoming given the circumstances.”  
   
“I am not jealous,” he huffed. How preposterous! “I'm concerned, more about him than her. If he really makes Kira angry, she could do something to him, something rash. Just because Dukat isn't here doesn't mean he couldn't catch wind of things and have something horrible done to Garak. For that matter, how do we really know Ziyal herself doesn't have nefarious intentions? He killed her grandfather, after all.”  
   
Leeta sighed in exasperation. “If you spent just fifteen minutes sitting down and actually talking to her, you'd know how stupid what you just said sounded. Do you honestly think Garak can't handle himself with Kira or Dukat? If anything, I'd think it was the other way around if push came to shove. I hope Kira is smart enough not to push him.” She paused and got an odd little smile. “I actually hope Dukat isn't.” She fastened her belt and leaned toward him. “Now kiss me. I've got to go, and if you have it in your head to confront Garak about the time he's spending with Ziyal tonight, I would highly recommend against it. Of course, you're going to do what you want. Just don't come complaining to me when he puts you in your place and leaves your ego smarting.”  
   
He stared at her. “You honestly expect me to kiss you after all of that, calling me stupid and telling me I'm no match for Garak's putting me in my place?”  
   
“You apparently have trouble with my simple honesty. Garak's not nearly as nice as I am, so I think I had good reason to say what I said.” She shrugged and turned in a graceful flounce of gossamer material and perfume, leaving him quietly fuming.  
   
“I'm not jealous,” he said to the closing door. Besides, Garak had been the one who couldn't take his eyes off the girl during the springball match a few nights before. He had even made Julian miss the final point of the major's match by his infuriating contrariness and insistence that there was nothing wrong with his attentions. It damned sure looked like interest to Julian, but had it really been? Was it possible Garak picked up on his misgiving and showed him what he expected to see? He hated to admit that Leeta had been right about anything, yet he knew that any attempt to confront Garak about Ziyal could only lead to frustration and misery. He could think of any number of angles the tailor could take to jab at him for nothing more than his own amusement.  
   
Ultimately, what right did he have to make any demands of Garak about who he saw or how he conducted his private affairs? What right did he have to feel possessive? “Is that what this really is?” he wondered aloud. If so, why? Was it because she was partially Cardassian, and he had never felt as though he could compete with anything involving Garak's culture? If that was the case, he knew he needed to get over it.  
   
“Sisko to Bashir,” the captain's voice startled him out of his musing.  
   
“Bashir here, Captain. Go ahead,” he said.  
   
“We've just received a distress signal from Free Haven. Prepare to be beamed aboard the Defiant. We're leaving in five minutes.”  
   
“Yes, Sir,” he said automatically. It was rare that they left so abruptly, but the outlying Bajoran colonies were vulnerable to any number of threats, the Breen, the Tzenkethi, the Tholians, Maquis raiders, rogue Cardassians or Klingons, others he couldn't call so readily to mind. He grabbed his spare personal effects that he kept at Leeta's and tossed them into one of her cloth bags then tapped his comm badge. “Ready for transport.”  
   
When he materialized on the transporter pad of the Defiant, Miles smirked at him. “Nice purse,” he said.  
   
“Ha ha. I was at Leeta's. It was the best I could do on such short notice.” Julian stepped down and headed for the sick bay. He could stow his things in a bunk later. His biggest regret was that he had to leave before he could smooth things over with Leeta. He didn't like the thought that their possible last words to one another could be harsh ones.  
   
_Garak  
Private Quarters_  
   
Fastening his belt, Garak gave a small smile of satisfaction. He had managed to trim down one notch in the past month. He was looking forward to his evening out with “the girls” as he was coming to think of them, Leeta and Ziyal. It was a shame Julian was away on one of those Starfleet missions of his. He had heard more than enough about it from Ziyal to know it should worry him. The Breen were dangerous and had advanced weaponry they weren't at all averse to using. It was also a pity that Rom had to work. He believed that the Ferengi maintenance worker would find Ziyal's company as entertaining as he did and would, of course, bask in the opportunity to spend some time with Leeta.  
   
“You're becoming such a busybody in your middle age,” he told himself humorously. If his matchmaking efforts were as successful with Odo as he had been in subtly moving things along for Rom and Leeta, he whimsically considered he should make a business of it.  _Wouldn't Quark just love that. Ha!_  His door chimed. “Enter,” he called out cheerfully. “I was just putting on my...belt,” his sentence trailed off as he stepped into his front room. There was a Bajoran there, yes, but not the one he expected. “Major,” he said neutrally.  
   
Kira's fingers twitched as though she wanted to make a fist. “Garak,” she said.  
   
“I'm expecting company in a few minutes,” he told her, watching her hands as much as he did her eyes.  
   
“I know,” she snapped. Immediately afterward, she held up a hand. “I'm sorry. Let me start again.” He nodded, remaining just outside his bedroom doorway, in reach of cover and his phaser if it became necessary. “I've come to view Ziyal as the little sister I never had. She...Prophets, she reminds me so much of myself in some ways. The person I...the person I would've been given half the chance. Please, tell me you're not playing some horrible game with her because of her father,” she said, her gaze so intense he almost felt the need to look away.  
   
He sighed softly. “How can I convince you?” he asked. “No matter what I say, you're going to have doubt. There is no way that I can take that away, which puts you in the unenviable position of having to trust me. Come with us tonight,” he offered.  
   
She blinked, taken aback. “To dinner?” she asked.  
   
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Leeta will be there, too. Watch us together. Draw your own conclusions from it. Oh, certainly, I could put on a show for your benefit, but both Leeta and Ziyal would be aware if I behaved differently in front of them than I normally do. Neither of them is what I would call soft-spoken or timid. They would confront me about it.”  
   
She frowned slightly, a small dimple forming above her left eyebrow. He knew that look and wisely kept quiet. “I don't want Ziyal thinking I'm trying to check up on her,” she said a little weakly.  
   
“Then I'll tell her I specifically invited you.”  
   
“Why?” she asked, flatly suspicious.  
   
Reluctantly, he stepped away from his bedroom doorway and approached her, keeping both of his hands visible and relaxed. “Not that I expect you'll believe me, but I like Ziyal. She's a bright spark in an often dull and cold landscape. When I talk to her, I forget where I am for a little while. Seeing us together, getting along and being civil, will make her happy, and that's reason enough for me.”  
   
“You know she has feelings for you,” Kira said.  
   
He frowned and nodded. “I can't control that, Major. All I can control is what I do about it. Ziyal is a dear girl, of age, yes, but still very much a girl. I have no interest in being the one to take that innocence away from her.”  
   
She searched his gaze for long moments. He could see her frustration at finding him hard to read. He made no effort to make it easier for her, some habits nearly impossible to break without much stronger motivation than her comfort level with him. She opened her mouth to speak, and his door chime interrupted her.  
   
“Enter,” Garak said smoothly, gaze flicking from Kira's conflicted countenance to Leeta's surprised one.  
   
“Oh,” she said, stepping inside and offering both of them a slightly confused smile. “I'm sorry. Did I come at a bad time? I thought I was supposed to be meeting you here.”  
   
“Not at all,” he said, putting a hand to Kira's shoulder and turning her with him. “I only just discovered the major has some free time and will be joining us for dinner. I was hoping to surprise Ziyal.”  
   
Kira's smile had a hard edge. “Yes,” she said, shooting Garak a look to kill. “That's...right.” She was a horrible liar.  
   
“No need to linger here, then,” he said, favoring both of them with bright eyes and his friendliest closed lipped smile. “Let's go.” He gestured Kira ahead of him and fell into step beside Leeta.  
   
Leeta leaned up and whispered, “Why do I get the impression she's furious?”  
   
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” he said smoothly, one hand settling briefly at the small of her back.  
   
“I'll just bet,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. She sped up to walk beside Kira, putting an arm lightly about her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. “I'm so happy you'll be joining us. Ziyal is going to be thrilled!”  
   
Garak smiled to himself all the way from the corridor through the turbolift ride to the second level of the Promenade. He hadn't been sure that Kira would go along with his strong-arm tactic. It could've been a minor embarrassment. Instead, it was something he was sure would make both of his original dinner companions happy and couldn't hurt his standing with Chalan, either.  
   
They passed into the warm light and cozy atmosphere of the Celestial Café. Chalan smiled brightly in welcome. “Your friend said she was only expecting two others,” she told Garak. “I'll just go grab another menu and meet you over there.”  
   
Ziyal's face lit as soon as she saw the three, and she waved enthusiastically, jumping up to hug Kira and Leeta tightly in turn. “Nerys!” she exclaimed, beaming. “I had no idea you'd be here, too. How wonderful!”  
   
Garak watched the former resistance fighter. Her strained expression eased to a warm smile. “I keep hearing how good the food is here. When...when Garak invited me, I just couldn't say no.” Leeta shot him a wry glance, one brow lifted. Fortunately, the other two were too distracted to see it.  
   
Ziyal's eyes flew to him, her smile deepening. “That was very gracious of you,” she said, offering him her palm to press as he had shown her.  
   
He returned the greeting and inclined his head. “The time was past due,” he said, looking past her to Kira.  
   
Chalan approached with the extra menu and wine list. “Welcome to the Celestial Café,” she said to them. “I'm so happy to see you here for your first time, Major. Now, all of you make yourselves comfortable. I'll be around in just a bit to tell you about our specials tonight, and then I'm going to turn you over to my capable waiter.”  
   
“You managed to hire someone?” Leeta asked. “That's wonderful news, Aroya.”  
   
She beamed and nodded, clearly pleased. “Business has been better than I expected, I'm sure partially in thanks to your friend here.” She lightly touched Garak's shoulder. “I can't tell you how many people have told me that he has recommended me. It's very kind of him.”  
   
“He's very kind,” Ziyal said, her eyes shining.  
   
Kira coughed into her fist and waved a hand at them when their attention turned to her. “I'm fine,” she choked out. “Just need a little water.”  
   
Chalan rushed away to fetch it for her, and Garak valiantly hid his amusement. Before the silence could get awkward, Leeta turned to Ziyal. “How is your painting coming along?” she asked.  
   
“I'm still stuck,” she said. “I'm sure it'll come to me. Probably in the middle of the night. I really hope I can start selling some of my work soon so I can find my own place and not keep imposing on Nerys.”  
   
“I've told you before you're no imposition,” Kira said, still sounding a little choked from her sudden coughing fit.  
   
“I know that, but I also know that when I sit bolt upright in the middle of the night and rush off into the sitting room, it wakes you up,” Ziyal said.  
   
Garak idly perused the menu, already knowing what he wanted, unless one of the specials sounded better. Chalan returned with water for all of them and a tall, fair haired Bajoran male in her wake. As she set the glasses on the table, she said, “This is Mayna. He'll be taking care of you this evening. In addition to what we have on the menu, we just got in some fresh porli fowl that I've slow smoked all day. It's served sliced with a garanberry reduction sauce, braised silfa buds, and creamed katterpods on the side. You might be interested in the korfa fish,” she said to Garak. “It's pan seared with a crisp rufa crust and lightly salted with charcoal salt from the Northwest Peninsula. It comes with a warm, wilted greens salad and himsa chips.”  
   
“You're tempting me,” Garak said, feeling his mouth starting to water.  
   
“Could I get the porli fowl without the side of katterpods?” Kira asked.  
   
“Of course,” Chalan said, smiling. “Just tell Mayna what you'd like to substitute. I'll be back by later to check on you. I hope all of you enjoy yourselves.”  
   
Garak saw a small crowd near the door, and the café itself already crowded with diners. Conversation sounds were at a very manageable level, however, in part because of the artful arrangement of the tables and in part because of the thick, mellow saffron colored cloth swaddling the walls and hanging from the ceiling in swags that suggested a large nomadic style tent. The four of them placed their food and drink orders, and Mayna retreated to convey them to the kitchen.  
   
“I can't believe I haven't been here before,” Kira said when he left.  
   
“That's because you work too much,” Ziyal said. “Or you're off on Bajor with Shakaaaar.” She dragged out the man's name playfully.  
   
“Ohh, Shakaar,” Leeta said, fanning herself and grinning at both women. “How is our illustrious First Minister?” she asked, batting innocent eyes at Kira.  
   
Kira shot Ziyal a mock exasperated look and answered Leeta in kind. “He's just fine; thank you for asking.” She grinned a syrupy grin and glanced at Garak. “No wonder you wanted me to come to dinner. You wanted the heat off of you from these two.”  
   
“Nerys!” Ziyal giggled and shot a glance at Garak from beneath her lashes. “We're not mean to him. Are we, Leeta?”  
   
“Never,” Leeta intoned, feigning absolute seriousness. “Right, Garak?”  
   
“A wise man knows when to seal his lips,” he said, taking a sip of his water. He found himself in a napkin swatting flurry from two sides. Kira's laughter sounded genuine. “You see? Abusive, both of them,” he huffed.  
   
Mayna emerged from the kitchen bearing a very large silver soup turine, steaming and filled with a rich looking broth studded with tiny dumplings. He set it on a side tray, removed the floral centerpiece, and carefully set the full dish at the center of the table. “There must be some mistake,” Leeta said, her eyes wide. “We didn't order...”  
   
“Miss Chalan insists,” Mayna said. “On the house. I'll be right back with the bowls.”  
   
Kira's look mirrored Leeta's. “That's far too generous,” she said. “We can't possibly accept that without paying. It wasn't even on the menu!” Garak found himself interested. Ziyal seemed as puzzled as he.  
   
“You'll have to take that up with Miss Chalan,” the waiter said over his shoulder with a smile.  
   
Seeing Garak's and Ziyal's confusion, Leeta said, “Possar soup takes two days to make. It's usually reserved for special occasions, and it's hard to find anybody who knows how to make the dumplings anymore. I wonder if this is a Chalan family recipe.”  
   
“Probably,” Kira said, her eyes still wide.  
   
Mayna returned with the bowls and rounded little spoons, setting them before each of them and dipping some of the soup into each bowl. It smelled delicious and truly looked appetizing. “Enjoy,” he said, leaving them to their first course.  
   
“It's all right to eat it, right?” Ziyal asked uncertainly, glancing at Kira. “Are you going to send it back?”  
   
“No, we won't send it back,” Kira said, reaching to squeeze her hand reassuringly. “It would be beyond rude. I'm just...really touched by Chalan's generosity.”  
   
“I've only had this once in my life,” Leeta said softly, dipping her spoon into her bowl. She smiled, but Garak could tell it was forced. He wondered at the story behind that.  
   
“Then we'll have to thank her extra sincerely,” Ziyal said, also dipping her spoon and lifting a bite to taste. The rest of them followed suit, and for a time there was no more talking, as was so often the case with delicious food and hungry people.  
   
“My grandmother,” Kira said, starting to laugh a little bit, “used to tell this story about how her brother switched all the possar flour with katterpod starch. Now, to look at it, you'd hardly be able to tell the difference, but if you try to make dumplings out of katterpod starch...”  
   
Leeta started to laugh, too, her eyes widening. “Oh, Prophets, no! It's like...”  
   
“Glue!” both women said together, laughing hard. Ziyal joined in wholeheartedly, and Garak chuckled lightly.  
   
“She said her mother...” Kira started miming with her hands, acting as though she were having a hard time pulling them apart and speaking through her laughter. “And she wanted so badly to switch my great uncle, but she...she couldn't get her hands apart to grab the switch!”  
   
“How do you get it to let go?” Ziyal asked.  
   
Kira shook her head and waved a hand, laughing too hard to answer at first. “That's the worst part. I...I can't say it at the table.” Obviously, Leeta knew. She was wrinkling her nose and trying very hard not to laugh too loudly. They were already getting some looks from the other tables.  
   
“Don't be that way!” Ziyal's laughter turned slightly outraged, her mouth wide. “You have to tell me!” Glancing at Garak apologetically, Kira leaned in and beckoned Ziyal closer. The girl leaned over obligingly to hear the whisper. Garak hadn't known her eyes could fly any wider. “Oh, that's...that's...so gross!” Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Kira just nodded violently and rested her head on the back of her hand at the edge of the table, her shoulders shaking with her now silent laughter, no more breath left to drive it.  
   
“Do you want to know?” Leeta asked Garak direly.  
   
He looked at all three women and shook his head. “I think not,” he said, more amused at their hilarity than he let on. Somebody had to be the adult!  
   
“You really don't,” Ziyal said, trying to rein in her giggles.  
   
Chalan briefly stopped by. “I was going to ask if you were enjoying yourselves, but I can see that for myself,” she said. “Did you like the soup?”  
   
“It was amazing,” Leeta said. “I'm so envious of you, Aroya. I burn water when I try to cook.”  
   
“Anybody can learn,” she said. “Stop by during your free time. I'm almost always in the kitchen.”  
   
Leeta beamed. “You mean it? I won't be in the way?”  
   
“Nonsense. Of course not. Anybody need any refills of water, wine, kanar?”  
   
Ziyal glanced around the table. “Looks like we're good,” she said. “Thank you so much for the soup. That was unbelievably generous of you.”  
   
“I believe in treating my loyal customers well,” she said, stepping away from them again as Mayna came out with their main courses.  
   
Garak thought his eyes would cross at the first bite of the fish. He had truly never had anything quite so fresh or succulent since leaving Cardassia. It was Bajoran cuisine, but it catered well to his race's natural affinity for seafood. He closed his eyes as he chewed, the better to focus on the flavor without the distraction of his main sense in the way.  
   
Ziyal's whisper came soft in his ear. “This is the best food I've ever had,” she said.  
   
He cracked one eye open and gave her a quick, half smile. “Me, too,” he murmured back. It was almost the truth.  
   
All of them ate far more than they should have. It was blatantly obvious by the way they sat back in their chairs with hands over their stretched bellies. Kira and Leeta were slightly flushed. “I'm going to need a hand cart to haul me out of here,” Kira said with a long, contented sigh.  
   
“Me, too,” Leeta said. “Thank the Prophets I'm off work tonight. I'm afraid if I tried to bend over the Dabo wheel, my costume would split.”  
   
“I made it better than that,” Garak assured her with a teasing light in his eyes.  
   
“You don't know how full I am,” she said.  
   
“On the contrary.” He cast a rueful glance down at his belt. That notch that fit so well when he was dressing was now uncomfortably tight. He decided to adjust it lest it make the decision for him when he tried to stand.  
   
“Uuuhhhh,” Ziyal said, flopping back dramatically. “OK, who's going to carry me out of here?”  
   
“If you ask Mayna nicely, he might,” Leeta said.  
   
“Hush you!” Ziyal pinned her with a squint, the corners of her mouth twitching with a suppressed grin.  
   
“We're going to have to work on your...oh, how do the humans put it? Poker face?” Garak asked.  
   
“Yeah,” Kira said, nodding. “For the record, don't ever let Dax talk you into playing. She'll clean you out before you even know what hit you.”  
   
“Ha,” Leeta snorted. “Don't let this one talk you into playing Kotra.” She jutted a thumb sideways at Garak. “It's addictive, and he'll always beat you.”  
   
“I want to learn how to play!” Ziyal chimed in.  
   
“I'll be happy to teach you,” he said. “Maybe the major would like to learn, too?”  
   
Kira's expression softened slightly. She seemed to understand what he was trying to do. “When I get a little spare time, sure. We'll order some takeout. Is the game portable?”  
   
“Quite,” he said, nodding.  
   
“Then we'll invite you over and feed you, and you can teach us.”  
   
Ziyal hid her disappointment well, but Garak saw a small flash of it. “That sounds like fun,” she said with a bright smile. He knew she looked for opportunities to spend time alone with him, and he was just as determined to ensure that most of their interactions remained public or chaperoned.  
   
“Dessert?” Mayna asked, appearing suddenly in that odd way waiters had. He held up his hands quickly at the pained groans. “I'll take that as a no,” he said. “Can I at least interest you in raktajinos?”  
   
Kira and Ziyal perked, but Leeta and Garak shook their heads. “I'm of the age that if I drink something with that much caffeine, I'll be up all night,” Garak said.  
   
“Hey!” Leeta frowned. “I'm not old, and it does that to me.”  
   
“Two,” Kira said, grinning and holding her fingers up.  
   
“I'm not  _old_ , either, Leeta,” he huffed with a light sniff.  
   
“No, of course not. Dignified,” she said. He pretended he didn't hear the mocking tone in the word.  
   
“Rarefied,” Kira added, smirking.  
   
“Well?” he glanced at Ziyal, raising an eye ridge. “Don't you have something to add, since it's pile on the tailor time?”  
   
“Well preserved,” she said, her lips trembling again from her effort not to crack a smile.  
   
“Like a pickle,” Leeta added.  
   
“Don't go there,” Kira deadpanned.  
   
“ _Excuse_  me!” Garak said, eyes wide as he stood. There was no way he could sit there with the three of them howling like riding hounds, even if it was funny. He made his way with as much dignity as he could muster to the refresher to wash his hands and give voice to his more subtle amusement without the entire café in audience. He was happy they had such a good time, but he determined that he wouldn't take a public outing with those three again without Julian, Rom, or both as a buffer. He was simply grateful that Cardassians didn't blush. They were too much.  
   
He returned to find Kira and Ziyal sipping at their raktajinos. The two full blooded Bajorans still had reddish faces, although it seemed they had finally overcome their wild laughter. When he retook his seat, Leeta squeezed his hand under the table and shot him a briefly searching look. Touched by her concern, he gave her a squeeze in return and shook his head very subtly. He hadn't been offended. Her smile blossomed warmly, and she sat back again. “This was a great idea, Garak,” she said. “I'm so glad you convinced Nerys to come along. I've always wanted the opportunity to get to know her better, but our work schedules have been so crazy for the longest time.”  
   
“That's true,” Kira said, nodding. “I see you at the bar all the time, but usually you're right there next to the Dabo wheel. Julian and Dax both speak very highly of you. I'm glad we did this, too.” She shot a quick glance and half smile at Garak.  
   
“It was the sweetest thing ever of you two to surprise me like that,” Ziyal said, impulsively reaching her hands to both of them. “I wouldn't have thought in a million years that you'd sit down to dinner together.”  
   
“It has been a very pleasant evening,” Garak agreed, his clasp of her hand loose and brief.  
   
Suddenly, the entire station rocked hard enough to throw them from their seats. Kira cried out sharply. As Garak tried to pick himself up off the floor, he heard her saying, “Kira to Ops. What the hell just happened?”

**Part II**

He saw her across the table, blood trickling down the side of her face. “You'd better get to Upper Pylon Three,” came the terse reply from the command center. “We've been attacked by Jem'Hadar. They came out of nowhere!”  
   
He looked quickly to Leeta and Ziyal. Both of them seemed to be all right, but they were shaken. “Garak,” Kira said, hauling herself to her feet, “please get Ziyal somewhere safe. If there are Jem'Hadar on the station...”  
   
“I understand, Major,” he said. “Go.”  
   
“Nerys is bleeding,” Ziyal said, shooting a worried look after her.  
   
“She can take care of herself, Sweetie,” Leeta said firmly. “We need to follow Garak now like she said.”  
   
Chalan was already back on her feet, she and Mayna effectively calming those who were panicking. There was nothing to be done there except to get out of the way. Garak offered a hand to pull Leeta up. Ziyal had already gained her feet and was casting worried looks at some of the injured people around them. “They'll be fine,” Garak said. “We've got to go now.” He knew that when he used that tone of voice, few ever disobeyed him. Ziyal was no exception. He calculated quickly that even though his shop was closer, the Promenade was a more likely target for invaders. He didn't trust the turbolifts. “Both of you stay close to me. If I say freeze, freeze. If I say drop, drop. No heroics. Understand?”  
   
They both nodded. Chalan controlled the flow of traffic from her establishment, keeping people from running and tripping over one another on the way out the door. Garak hurried his little group out of the doorway very quickly and cut to the side, looking for a specific panel. As soon as he saw it, he pried it loose with clawing fingers, grunting with effort. Leeta stepped in to help him, her thinner fingers better at getting purchase. In the end, it took all three of them to work it completely loose without tools. “Into the maintenance conduit. Quickly, quickly,” he urged them, pushing them from behind. He stepped in last and pulled the panel back into place. They couldn't quite get it shut as completely as it had been. It would have to do.  
   
It was a very long time since Garak had found himself in the inner corridors of Terok Nor. He tried not to think of the previous circumstances that led to his unusual knowledge of the station. He squeezed past them to lead the way again. He had to pause a few times to be certain he had the right way. He had only done this once before under stress. After a few ladder climbs and one wrong turn, he paused before another access panel. “Both of you do me a favor,” he said. “Put your heads against the wall and listen. Let me know if you hear anything. Your hearing is sharper than mine.”  
   
They did as he asked, listening for several minutes. Both of them straightened and shook their heads. “No,” Ziyal said.  
   
“Nothing,” Leeta said.  
   
“Stand back,” he told them, turning his back and aiming a backward, jabbing kick at the panel to spare his knee the brunt of the force and distribute it more through his hip and thigh. It popped free and spun out into the corridor. Garak quickly looked up and down the empty corridor before beckoning them out ahead of him. They put the panel back in place and ran down the rest of the way to his quarters. Even after he had his phaser in hand, he still didn't fully relax. “We should be OK here for now,” he told them. “If you hear anything out there—I don't care how innocuous you think it might be—tell me.”  
   
They nodded. Leeta instinctively gathered Ziyal into her arms and held her. Only then did Garak notice that both of them were shaking. If he hadn't been trained, he figured he might be shaking, too. He had seen what Jem'Hadar could do. He crossed to his computer interface, set his phaser within easy reach, and began to hack into the system so that he would at least be able to tell them something of what was going on. “Upper Pylon Three is gone,” he said. “Force fields are holding. The Defiant just arrived. Casualty reports aren't in yet.”  
   
“Rom was working in the upper pylons tonight,” Leeta said in a small voice.  
   
Garak glanced over at her. “There's no sense in worrying until we know more,” he said. “He could have been in any one of them.”  
   
“I should find Quark, ask...” she said.  
   
“You can't go out there,” Ziyal said sharply. “It's not safe. Nerys will come let us know when it is. Please, Leeta?”  
   
The woman nodded and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “OK,” she said. “Garak, if you hear anything...”  
   
“I'll tell you,” he said. “Why don't you two have a seat on the sofa? There's no reason not to be comfortable, or if you'd feel safer in the bedroom, go there.”  
   
“We're not leaving you,” Ziyal said staunchly, and beneath her fear he saw mettle.  
   
“Then I should be glad of the company,” he said gently, turning his attention back to the computer. The Defiant didn't stay long. They left within less than a half hour in pursuit of the fleeing Jem'Hadar vessel. “We're getting casualty reports now,” he said, glancing over at the two. “Eighteen confirmed dead. Over thirty missing, over a hundred injured.” Leeta's dark eyes looked like twin bruises, her worry palpable.  
   
Frowning to himself, Garak hailed Quark on his “underground” channel he wasn't supposed to know about. The Ferengi's surprised face popped up on part of his screen, the rest dedicated to the hacked security feed. “Where's Rom?” Garak asked without preamble.  
   
“He's fine, Garak. Major Kira told me she saw him after the explosion. How did you...”  
   
Garak cut the feed before he could finish his question. Both Leeta and Ziyal smiled gratefully, as not only Rom's but Kira's safety were just confirmed. “I would suggest trying to get some rest,” he told both of them. “The best thing we can do right now is to stay out of the way. Kira will be expecting you to be here, Ziyal. Let's not give her a reason to worry.” He glanced at Leeta, his plea unspoken. If the girl was staying, she should, too.  
   
“We can spread blankets on the floor,” Leeta said, nodding very faintly and giving him a reassuring smile.  
   
“Nonsense. You can take the bed. It might be a little cramped...”  
   
“Nerys and I share a bed all the time,” Ziyal said. She ducked her head slightly, looking a little embarrassed. “I sometimes have nightmares, and she's really nice about letting me climb in. I don't take up much space, Leeta. I promise.”  
   
Garak turned back to his computer so she wouldn't read his look. It was rare he was moved to compassion. Her open plea not to be alone tugged at him. There was no telling what she had been through in that Breen labor camp or what demons stalked her dreams. He was glad that Leeta conceded easily. “I'm afraid I don't have anything that will fit either of you,” he said, still not looking their way. “All of my pajama tops and tunics will be far too wide at the neck. You'll have to sleep in your clothes.”  
   
“We'll manage that for a night,” Leeta said. “Ziyal, why don't you take the shower first? I don't know about you, but I feel a little grungy after crawling through all those maintenance tunnels.”  
   
“Me, too,” she said. She sprang quickly from the sofa and crossed over to Garak, hugging him with artless abandon. “Thank you for everything,” she said simply and hurried into the back, the bedroom door whooshing shut behind her.  
   
Leeta approached more slowly, her hug no less fierce but avoiding his neck ridges. “You,” she said, pulling back and kissing his cheek softly, “are my hero. You may have the entire rest of the universe fooled, Mister 'Just a Tailor' and sometime jerk, but after seeing how positively sweet and dear you are to that young woman, I will never again believe that there isn't a heart of gold under all that gray.”  
   
“You Bajorans are such a sentimental people,” he scoffed, desperate to disguise his intense discomfort.  
   
To his horror, she tweaked his nose. “Not fooled,” she said, winking and stepping away from him. “I promise I'll never do that again, and I won't breathe a word of any of this to anyone or embarrass you by continuing to gush. I just...understand now why Julian can't let you go, and I'm glad he has you.”  
   
“Have you told him what you told me?”  
   
She shook her head. “There hasn't been time lately. I hardly see him because they're working him so hard, and when I have, we've been fighting.” She sighed. “I will tell him, Garak. I promise, soon, but not while he's dealing with a crisis like this or while Miles is still so unsteady. He has enough on his plate. It can wait.”  
   
He nodded, knowing that she was right. “I'm sorry things aren't working out for you,” he said, meaning it on one level. “You're a good woman. I sometimes think Julian can't be happy with anyone, and I have no idea why.”  
   
“Maybe that's the mystery that keeps you going back to him,” she said, leaning a seat on the back of his sofa. “I've known you long enough to know you have a deep seated need to have all the answers. There aren't many of us mere mortals who can keep our deepest, darkest secrets out of your hands.”  
   
“You're mocking me,” he said, his lip curling slightly.  
   
“Fondly,” she said.  
   
“When did you last eat possar soup?” he asked, turning to face her directly.  
   
He could tell the question startled her; it was his intention, anything to create some distance. He didn't want this kind of closeness with her, for her to gain the power to hurt him. So few held those reins. He didn't expect her to answer him, however. “At a funeral,” she said. “It's my earliest memory, actually. I think it was my mother's or my father's. I don't really know, but...I remember the soup perfectly. It was the best thing I had ever tasted and one of the last times I was full until I was an adult.”  
   
Her dark eyes gleamed a challenge. He felt suddenly petty and small for pushing her in the way that he had. She turned the tables on him so deftly with her brutal honesty that he felt his breath catch. “When you do leave him, I hope it doesn't mean you'll also leave me,” he confessed in an almost offhanded way. He could think of nothing else to convey his regard that wouldn't come across as cloying, and he couldn't bring himself to stick her with another barb. He respected her too much for that.  
   
She relaxed, and the hardness faded from her eyes. “No,” she said. “I'm afraid you're stuck with me.”  
   
Ziyal poked her head around the bedroom door. “I'm done with my shower,” she said.  
   
Garak felt relief when both of them were ensconced in his bedroom. He didn't want the sorts of attachments he found himself forming with distressing regularity now. The list seemed to grow by the day of people he would miss if they left, people with the power to put a hole in his carefully ordered world with their absence or their sorrow. It made him wonder who he was and if he would ever be able to make himself useful again if called upon by his people. It frightened him deeply. “Computer, lights out,” he said, lying back on the sofa and staring up into the darkness. He felt quite certain he'd get no sleep.  
   
_Julian  
Habitat Level H-3_  
   
Dead on his feet. He understood that expression on a visceral level. He had no idea exactly what time it was, late, early, the nebulous in-between time that some called night and others morning. He had mended so much torn and burned flesh that it was all a blur. Normally he prided himself on knowing the names of all of his patients and a little something personal about them. There had been no time for that in the wake of the devastating explosion. He had come right off the Defiant, already exhausted from the defense of Free Haven, and thrown himself into blood and char. The full complement of his infirmary staff had barely been adequate to the task. Frendel finally sent him away before his exhaustion could hurt someone. He felt it deeply enough not to argue. Kira had told him at some point during the confusion that Leeta was with Garak. The news had relieved him. He didn't have the presence of mind at the time to wonder how she knew.  
   
He lifted a leaden hand to press the hail button at Garak's door. The tailor responded almost immediately, glancing back toward his bedroom and then stepping out into the corridor with Julian, the door shutting at his back. “They're asleep,” Garak said. “They had a trying time of things. I'd just as soon not awaken them.”  
   
_Them?_  Julian blinked blearily. What was Garak talking about? “Who...who are you talking about?” he asked thickly.  
   
“Leeta and Ziyal,” he answered.  
   
His mind refused to wrap around it. “I don't understand. Leeta and Ziyal are both in your bed?”  
   
Irritation flared in the blue eyes regarding him evenly, but Garak showed uncharacteristic restraint of it. “Yes,” he said. “We were all having dinner together with Major Kira when the pylon exploded. Naturally, she had to tend to the crisis at hand, leaving me to see to the safety of our friends. They were both completely sensible, good heads on their shoulders.”  
   
“I'm sorry I...” Julian frowned and waved a hand vaguely. “I don't even know what I'm saying right now. I suppose I'll go to my quarters. I need some sleep.”  
   
Garak grunted softly and took him by the hands. He allowed him to lead him into the dark living quarters. It still surprised him just how well the Cardassian could navigate spaces his vision couldn't penetrate. He guided him unerringly to the sofa, pulled his boots off, and had him lying on his side with his head pillowed on a firm thigh in less than two minutes. “Sleep,” Garak murmured, his fingers in Julian's hair stroking out the same message tactilely.  
   
“Just two hours,” Julian husked. “I mean it. I've got to get back to the infirmary.”  
   
“I understand,” Garak said.  
   
He awoke not to Garak, but to Leeta. The light level in the room was very low, just enough for him to see her face close to his own. His head was now pillowed on a low couch arm. He had awakened to the feeling of her fingers stroking through the hair at his temple. Disoriented, he moved to sit up, and she eased back in her crouch to give him room. “What time is it?” he croaked.  
   
“You've been asleep for two hours, just as you asked,” she said, climbing to her feet and reaching both hands to him to help him up. “Garak is walking Ziyal back to Nerys'. He instructed me in no uncertain terms to have you up and out of here on time.”  
   
He took her hands and hauled himself to his feet then pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her fragrant hair. “I'm sorry I was such an ass,” he said. “It was all I could think about on the way to Free Haven, that I didn't even have a chance to smooth things out with you or say good-bye before having to leave. Then when we got back and I saw the damage to the station...” He felt his voice catch. He was still so exhausted that his emotions lay raw and close to the surface.  
   
She hugged him tightly. “I could've been nicer,” she said. “I'm sorry, too. I'll walk you to the infirmary. We can talk along the way. I know you need to go.”  
   
He nodded and reluctantly drew back. After a trip to the bathroom, he felt a little more human. They left Garak's quarters together, and she filled him in on everything that had happened in more detail. He had a hard time imagining Garak and Kira actually enjoying one another's company on any level. Then again, he had seen them set aside their differences for causes greater than themselves before.  
   
On the turbolift ride down, Leeta said, “It's not my business, but you should know that Garak isn't romantically interested in Ziyal. Prophets, she has one of the hardest crushes on him I've ever seen in my life, but it's one-sided. Try to have a little compassion for her, OK?”  
   
He nodded and lifted both hands to rub at his face. “You weren't wrong to accuse me of jealousy. I know it's stupid.”  
   
“It's not stupid,” she said. “He's important to you, and you don't feel secure in his affections. I'm not saying you're wrong to feel insecure. Garak...is difficult. All I'm saying is that Ziyal isn't a threat.”  
   
He pulled her to him again for the last few seconds that they had of the ride. “I'm lucky to have you. I know I don't always show it. I know it, though.” She pulled back from him so that they could step onto the Promenade. He thought he saw her swipe at her face, but it was swift, and she was turned away from him. “Are you crying?” he asked.  
   
“No,” she said, turning and smiling at him. “Why would I cry when you're being so sweet? Good luck today. I hope they let you get some real sleep soon.” She hurried away before he could question her further.  
   
_Why are you lying to me?_  he thought. He had seen that her eyelashes were wet. Unfortunately, he didn't have the time to think about it or pursue it. There was an infirmary full of casualties waiting for him, many of them still in danger of succumbing to their injuries. They needed his full focus, and he intended to give it to them.  
   
By the end of the day they had four more dead, four families for Kira to notify in the captain's absence, four more weights on his already burdened back. He set up a portable cot in his office, snagging thirty minutes of sleep here, forty-five there, anything to get him through this. It was his nightmare come to life, only he felt like the zombie. His staff were as exhausted as he. Frendel had set up his own cot in an empty lab down the hall, and a few others also camped in any available space without having to be asked. Despite having the best medication available, pained moans and cries could be heard at all hours.  
   
Days passed in one long hazed blur. They finally hit the tipping point they were all working toward, when all but the most badly wounded of their charges could go home or return to duty, when they could slow their breakneck pace, back off the stim packs, and return to something resembling a normal life. Julian wished that he could give a day off to every single one of his people. It wasn't feasible. It wasn't possible for him to take one, not that he didn't have the leave. He clapped Nurse Frendel on the shoulder, gave him a tired nod, and left for his first full night off in nearly eight days. The Defiant had returned three days before. As much as he wanted to sleep, he wanted to see Miles first. He wasn't happy with how quickly the man had returned to full duty, even dangerous, violent missions. Roberto Telnorri still worked closely with Julian on the chief's case and had assured him that he believed the engineer could handle it. He had little choice but to trust his judgment.  
   
He activated the hail and managed a warm smile when Keiko answered the door, looking just a little frazzled. “Hey, Julian,” she said. An insistent, high pitched shout had her turning sharply. “Molly, I said not now,” she snapped, turning back to him and tucking a dark strand of hair behind her ear. “Miles isn't home yet. You're welcome to come in, but I'll warn you now, Molly is in a mood.”  
   
“Maybe I can help,” he offered.  
   
She shot him a skeptical look but stepped back to admit him. “I've got so many notes left to compile from the survey,” she said, gesturing helplessly at her uncharacteristically scattered desk housing an even more uncharacteristically wilted house plant. “I just keep getting so tired lately. Listen to me, going on and on when you've been buried alive in the infirmary for over a week. How are you? Can I get you anything?”  
   
“I'm all right,” he assured her. “Tired, but I'll live. Why don't you take a little break? I don't need anything, and I can spend some time with Molly until Miles gets home.”  
   
“Uncle Julian,” Molly said, walking over and tugging at his trousers, “will you color with me?”  
   
“I'd love to color with you,” he said, “if it's all right with your mum.”  
   
Keiko shook her head. “What did I already tell you?” she asked. “I want you to work on your letters first. No coloring until you're done.”  
   
“I'll help you with that instead,” Julian offered.  
   
“No!” Molly huffed, folding her arms and glaring at both adults. “I don't like it!”  
   
Keiko's eyes narrowed dangerously. Julian could tell this had been going on for a while now. “You know, whenever I have a boring task, I try to find ways to make it more interesting,” he said quickly. “Can we at least try, so your mum can have a little rest? She's much happier when she isn't tired, isn't she?” he asked, squatting down to Molly's level. “Doesn't fuss as much?”  
   
Clearly skeptical, Molly nodded slowly. “All right,” she said. “Then we can color?”  
   
He glanced up at Keiko and offered a wry smile then stood and allowed Molly to lead him over to the coffee table where her lesson was spread. Keiko's return smile was deeply grateful. “I'll be in the bedroom,” she said to both of them. “If I'm lucky, I'll be able to catch a little nap before supper.”  
   
“Now, why don't you show me what's so awful and boring about this lesson,” he said, sitting cross-legged on the floor, “and we'll figure out a way to make it fun.” Molly knelt beside him and drew the booklet closer. The two bent their heads over the pages, and Julian wracked his tired brain for a way to engage a four year old's imagination in a lesson that really was dreadfully dull. “Hmm,” he said. “Blank, p, p, l, e. It wants a letter, doesn't it?” Molly's eyes were already starting to wander toward her coloring book in the corner. Julian put a hand to his chest and dramatically fell over. “Aaaacck,” he said, flailing a little.  
   
She whipped her head back around and stared at him, her dark eyes very wide and her mouth open slightly. “What happened?” she asked.  
   
“If only I had...a letter,” he said. “Only the right one will do. Aaaaacck...”  
   
She shook her head and giggled. “You're silly, Uncle Julian!”  
   
“Hurry!” he said, lying down the rest of the way. “My time is running out.”  
   
“I'll fix you!” she squealed suddenly, diving for her pencil and very carefully writing in an “a” to the blank space. She grabbed up the booklet and shoved it toward his face, too close for him to focus. “Did I save you?” she asked.  
   
He took one edge in hand and pushed it back just a bit. “It looks...” he said weakly, “why, yes. I think...I think you did. It was a very, very close call.” He grabbed his knee.  
   
“What is it now?” she asked, shaking him with all of her weight.  
   
“My knee. That 'o, a, t' needs a letter that rhymes with knee, or it will never be the same. I may never walk again. Get the magic pencil. Hurry!”  
   
“I've got it!” she said urgently and snatched the booklet away from him. He propped his head in his hand and watched her carefully craft another letter. She “saved” him from one crisis after another until Miles came through the door. “Daddy!” she said, tossing aside the pencil and launching from her work spot straight toward him like a tiny photon torpedo. Julian smiled from his spot on the floor and waved at Miles as he lifted the girl in a tight hug.  
   
“Just what I've been wanting all day,” Miles said, “my very own Molly hug. How did you know?”  
   
“I always know,” she said smugly.  
   
“That's th' truth,” he agreed, dangling her upside down so that she'd giggle and then setting her aright. “I see you've been entertaining your Uncle Julian. Where's mommy?”  
   
“Taking a nap. Shhh!” She put a finger to her lips and shushed him loudly. She turned to Julian. “How do you feel?” she asked earnestly.  
   
Miles arched a questioning brow. Julian flashed him a quick wink and turned his attention back to Molly. “I'm all right...I think, but my...oh, dear. Look. My pinky won't quit twitching.” He twitched his finger at her. “Uh oh. It's spreading up my hand.”  
   
“I've got this!” Molly said confidently, squirming back into her place wedged between him and the coffee table. She picked up her pencil and looked back at Miles. “I'm saving Uncle Julian with the magic pencil,” she said excitedly. “He's almost saved for good!”  
   
“That's good t' hear,” Miles said with a chuckle. “Don' let me interrupt your work there. I'm going t' give your mommy a break and put dinner on. What do you think of that?”  
   
“Don't make it yucky,” she said primly.  
   
“Yucky? I never make yucky food. Julian, think you'll be joining us?”  
   
Molly whipped her head around. “Pleeeeaaaase? I haven't seen you in a million billion years.”  
   
“You're right. It has been such a very long time,” he said, trying not to laugh. He glanced over at Miles. “I think you have your answer, Chief.”  
   
“Four place settings it is,” the engineer said, tipping a mock salute his way.  
   
Despite his exhaustion, he was happy to be there. Molly finished her work without need of further prompting and settled down, leaning her back against his stomach while he leaned his back against the bottom of the sofa. She took one of his hands. “This little piggy went to market,” she said, wiggling his thumb.  
   
“Are you sure it was that one?” he asked mischievously. “It wasn't this one?” He wiggled his ring finger.  
   
“No,” she said firmly, pinning him with a glare that was pure Keiko. “That little piggy...” she screwed up her face in thought. “That one had no roast beef.”  
   
“Because he didn't go to market,” Julian said.  
   
“Nuh uh,” she said, exasperated. “Wait.” She frowned fiercely. “Stop...stop  _confusing_  me.”  
   
“But you said he didn't go to market,” he teased.  
   
“You,” she leaned in so close her nose touched his, “are the biggest silly ever.”  
   
“That's a very big silly,” he said solemnly.  
   
“Very big,” she agreed. She glanced over at the dining table. “I'm going to get Mommy,” she announced, pushing off of him with both hands to stand and striding into the bedroom.  
   
Julian sat up and smiled slightly over at Miles. “Need any help over there?”  
   
“Oh, sure, you ask after the table is already set,” the man said, grinning. He glanced toward the bedroom. “You're really good with her. Thanks for givin' Keiko a little down time.”  
   
He forced himself to his feet, afraid he might fall asleep if he sat there on the floor much longer. “If I ever have a normal work schedule again, I wouldn't mind sitting for the two of you sometimes. We have fun together.”  
   
“Y' don't know what you're gettin' into,” he said with a soft snort, “but I just might take you up on that offer.”  
   
“How are things?” he asked, stepping close enough not to be overheard from the next room.  
   
“Won't lie to you,” he answered in kind. “Some days it's damned difficult, but it's gettin' a little easier. I said some hard things t' you...”  
   
Julian shook his head quickly. “Nothing that mattered. I knew where it was coming from.”  
   
“All th' same, I'm sorry for it,” Miles said. “You're...well, it's like you said t' me. You're one of th' best friends I've ever had.”  
   
“Oh, Miles, you set the table,” Keiko said from the bedroom door, a smile in her voice.  
   
“Molly told me in no uncertain terms not t' wake you up,” he said, patting Julian's shoulder and stepping past him to go to her and give her a tight hug. “And she told me no yucky food, so I decided we'd eat Cardassian tonight.”  
   
“Ewwww!” Molly said instantly. “The meat is greeeeen!”  
   
If Julian didn't misjudge, Keiko looked a little green, too. “He's kidding,” he said quickly. “I saw him make the selection. It's shepherd's pie.”  
   
They all sat down together, and Miles served. It was a very pleasant dinner. It went a long way toward easing his concern about his friend. Miles seemed relaxed and content with the company. Keiko looked a lot more at ease for having had a nap and was much less short tempered with Molly. Like the sponge that all small children seemed to be, Molly picked up on her mother's more relaxed vibes and behaved herself, even taking her plate to the replicator without having to be asked. Julian colored with her for a little while because he had said he would. Keiko must have noticed his drooping eyes. She rescued him after only about ten minutes, starting Molly on her getting ready for bed ritual early with the promise of two extra stories for bedtime.  
   
Miles watched her retreat into the back and looked back to Julian. “I think she's tryin' t' give us a little conversation time. You look too beat for it. I wouldn't normally kick you out. That's more your job, takin' care of the rest of us. This time I'm going to insist, though. Go get some sleep. You didn't have to come checkin' up on me after the week you've had.”  
   
“I didn't have to in order to want to,” he said. “Normally, I'd argue with you. Mark this on your calendar, because I'm leaving without so much as a whisper of protest.”  
   
Miles smiled and walked him to the door with a hand on his shoulder. He drew him in for a quick, one armed hug and sent him off with a wave. Julian maintained his facade of life until the door closed and felt himself sag inward. He probably should have gone straight home instead of making that detour. He couldn't regret it, for although he desperately needed sleep, he was in just as much need of normalcy and human contact that didn't involve twisted, injured flesh, faces contorted in pain, and worried relatives crowding him and asking him questions he couldn't always answer.  
   
When he reached his own quarters, he collapsed face down on his sofa, unable to muster enough energy to make it to the bedroom. He slept hard and long, missing the initial ping of his automated alarm and almost running late for work the next morning. Something smelled off in the turbolift. He was mortified when he realized it was him. Thankfully, the infirmary had sonic showers. He took advantage of one the moment he could grab five minutes to himself.  
   
He intended to try to have lunch with Leeta. Dax interrupted those plans before he had the chance to contact her. “Guess what,” she said, popping her head around his office door jamb.  
   
“You finally asked Worf on a date,” he said.  
   
She rolled her eyes. “No.” Stepping the rest of the way into his office, she grinned. “Picture this. You...me...and Nerys...all alone in a runabout fitted with brand new sensor arrays, flying through the Gamma Quadrant on a bio-survey...”  
   
He grinned in spite of himself. “You got clearance for the Gavara survey,” he said.  
   
“Yep,” she said, blue eyes shining. “We leave tomorrow. Think you can tear yourself away from this place for a few days?”  
   
He greeted the news with mixed feelings. Being away from the infirmary would be a wonderful change of pace, but it would mean he couldn't spend the time with Leeta he sensed they needed or catch up with Garak. “You know me,” he said with forced cheer. “I can't resist the call of the wide open frontier.”  
   
“I knew you'd be happy,” she said, bouncing once on her toes. “I'm off to spread the cheer to Nerys. Why don't you come with me, and we can all do lunch?”  
   
He stood and eyed her askance. “You know she's not going to like the news,” he said. “She hates the Gamma Quadrant. You just want someone to share the blame.”  
   
She opened her mouth in mock shock. “Julian Bashir, what a suspicious man you've become! Is it so hard to believe I might just want your company?”  
   
“On the verge of being trapped on a runabout with me for days? You could say I'm fostering a bit of skepticism,” he said. “Come on. Dragging out the inevitable won't make things any better when we reach Kira.”  
   
She tucked her arm in his and bumped his shoulder with her cheek. “That's what I love about you,” she said cheerfully. “Yours is not to wonder why. Yours is just to do or die.”  
   
“The longer this wrangling with the Dominion goes on, the less I find to like about that poem,” he said very dryly.  
   
Kira took the news about as well as he expected and had plenty of choice words for both of them over lunch. By the end of the day, he calculated he had approximately an hour to get himself to Leeta's quarters and try to squeeze in some quality time. Then she would be off to work, and she'd be dead asleep when it was time for him to leave on the next mission. “Perfect,” he muttered to himself, sighing.

**Part III**

He caught her halfway through her supper, the table set for one. He knew he couldn't expect her to anticipate that he'd be available given how crazy his schedule had been. It was depressing, though, more depressing when he broke the news of the survey. “After everything you've already had to do lately?” she asked. “And you always said Quark was a slave driver.”  
   
“Sometimes Starfleet is like this. There have been plenty of times that things have dragged with hardly anything to do at all. You don't know about them, because I don't tend to complain when I have time for research and projects I enjoy. I'm really sorry. I was looking forward to spending some time together.”  
   
She glanced away. “It's like you said. Things like this happen. Do you know when you're due back?”  
   
“Not yet. It will depend on what we find, how much biodiversity, whether we have any unexpected encounters,” he said.  
   
“You should expect encounters,” she said a little harshly.  
   
He sighed and rubbed his temples. Not this again. “Leeta, I don't set Federation policy. What are we supposed to do? Just cower over here on our side of the wormhole and hope the Founders decide to leave us alone? You know that sort of thing doesn't work.”  
   
“I also know that when you've been given a clear warning not to go somewhere you don't have a right to be and you keep crossing that line, you can expect bad things to happen. All of you have been lucky so far.”  
   
“Lucky?” he snapped. “Tell that to the families of the twenty-two dead. Tell that to Ensign Thompson who doesn't have enough of his legs left to fit prosthetics.”  
   
“Sixteen of those families are Bajoran,” Leeta said angrily. “Don't sit there and try to play the Federation martyr with me. The Celestial Temple is in the B'hava'el system. Do you really think the Founders are going to make the distinction that Bajor isn't part of the Federation yet when it's clear we're sanctioning all of your little jaunts from our space station?” She made an impatient noise. “I don't want to do this. I don't want to sit here and fight with you when you're leaving tomorrow. I'm just worried. I worry about you every time you set foot on one of those ships heading in the wrong direction, and now I worry about us, too. I'm sorry.” She stood and cleared her table, food still on her plate.  
   
“I ruined your supper,” he said. “I'm the one who's sorry.”  
   
“I would've been a lot more upset with you if you just left without trying to see me or sent some stupid transmission after you were gone.”  
   
He stood and crossed to her, pulling her into an embrace and kissing her, gently at first. Soon enough hunger for her seized him, driven as much by the knowledge of the pending absence as a need to feel close to her again, the way they hadn't been able to be for what felt like much too long.  
   
She made a small, unhappy sound against his lips. “We don't have time for this,” she said breathlessly. “Look, just stay here until after I get off work. I can handle being sleep deprived for a night. It's a much better way of sending you off than on the heels of a fight, and it'll give you the opportunity to get some sleep before I come home.”  
   
“All right,” he said huskily. “I'll be here. You'll come straight home?”  
   
She gave him a lingering kiss full of promise. “You honestly have to ask?”  
   
He didn't want to tell her that he genuinely felt he did. Instead, he pressed his forehead against hers, kissed her once, and let her go. “Wake me up,” he said. “Be persistent if I'm stubborn.” He held his smile for her until she left. Something was off. He could tell. He couldn't make her talk, though, not until she was ready. He had learned that the hard way.  
   
He stripped from his uniform and ran himself a rare bath, usually preferring the efficiency of a shower. The hot water teased away his kinks and aches, the steam bathing his face and forming micro-beads of moisture that felt divine in the dry, processed air of the bathroom. He lay his head back and draped a wet washcloth over his eyes.  
   
He awoke shriveled and shivering, the water icy and lapping against his closed lips. That was a close call. Frowning, he drained the tub and started a hot shower to give back the body heat the water leeched away. Afterward, he dried himself haphazardly and sprawled naked in the bed, still groggy. Something at the back of his mind warned him against falling asleep nude. If there was an emergency of some sort, he'd have to waste precious seconds dressing. He couldn't muster the energy or the will to do anything about it. He fell asleep with the lights still on.  
   
Petal soft kisses across his forehead and down the side of his temple awoke him to darkness and a warm presence against him. “Mnh,” he murmured, reaching to pull Leeta closer. “Wish I could wake up that way more often,” he said, tipping his head upward to catch her lips with his.  
   
“A gracious man makes do with what he can get,” she said, teasing him. She moved against him fluidly, and he was pleased to find she was already undressed.  
   
“Well, I don't know about gracious,” he said, following the line of her jaw to her ear, “but I'm grateful. Does that count?”  
   
“For quite a bit,” she said, shifting him to his back with gentle pressure of her hand to his shoulder. He felt her straddle him and found himself instantly ready for her. She was ready, too, receiving him and lowering in a deft shift of hips. She leaned forward, sinuous and sleek, pressing breasts to chest and mouth to mouth. There was no more talk, the playful mood heading toward something more primal.  
   
_Love you,_  he thought as he undulated beneath her, both of them moving together, thrust and counter-thrust. He turned her over and felt her legs sliding up his hips, squeezing about his waist. Bracing himself on both hands, he shivered to feel her lips moving over his chest, her nails scratching lightly down and up his back. She sucked hard at a nipple, making him writhe. She could make him so crazy with the subtlest of things, a twist of her hips, a squeeze of velvety inner muscle. It had been too long; he couldn't stop himself from letting go. She pulled him down to her, their sweat mingling, and held him tightly through every last shiver and spasm. He knew she liked having his weight, so he gave it to her and rested his face in the pillow beneath her head.  
   
When he could move again, he reached down between them and felt her rise to his hand. He kissed her roughly, letting her set her own rhythm for what she wanted from him. Her entire body tightened, her breaths coming in small whimpers that grew in volume until she was crying out and clinging to him with tight hands and digging nails. She fell lax under him, and he shifted his hand away before the sensation could become too much. “I wish I could pack you away in a duffel and bring you with me,” he said low.  
   
“I'm sure Dax and Nerys would love that,” she said, amused. “Oh, Julian, Julian!”  
   
He snorted a soft laugh and rolled to his side, pulling her with him. “They'd get over it.”  
   
“Eventually,” she agreed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and then his chest. “I'll be here when you get back.”  
   
“I'm glad,” he said, closing his eyes and enjoying the gentle mingle of breath when she settled. “I wish I wasn't sleepy. I wanted to give you a better reason to miss me than that.”  
   
“You worry too much,” she said, snuggling close. “I'm beat, too. You'll wake me up before you leave, right?”  
   
“Of course,” he said, nodding against her hair. He didn't bother pointing out that she might not remember it. She was one of the few people he had known who could have an entire conversation more asleep than awake. It had taken him a long time to be able to tell the difference.  
   
_Garak  
Private Quarters_  
   
The door chime roused him from deep sleep. Garak sat up and called up the lights low. “Computer, who is at my door?” he asked.  
   
“Tora Ziyal,” came the response.  
   
He glanced at the chronometer. It was far too late for such visits, but Kira was gone on the survey mission with Dax and Julian. He climbed from bed and threw on a thick robe, covering himself from ankles to neck ridges, stuck his feet in his slippers, and shuffled into the sitting room. “Enter,” he said a bit irritably.  
   
The door slid open. Ziyal remained in the corridor, hugging herself close. “I'm sorry,” she said, starting to back away. “I shouldn't have bothered you.”  
   
She was too pale. He strode forward quickly, shedding his irritation like a second skin. “No, dear, I'm sorry I snapped. I'm not at my best when I first awaken. Come in.” He wrapped an arm about her shoulders and drew her across his threshold back into the sitting room. “What's this about?”  
   
She licked dry lips. “I...I feel really stupid,” she said very softly. “There's this one nightmare... I haven't had it in weeks. Nerys is usually there. I would've gone to Leeta, but she's still at work. Quark gets really mean if I interrupt her. I didn't know where else to go. I just...I can't be alone after that dream. I tried. I tried really hard, Garak.”  
   
He could tell she was fighting tears. “I understand,” he said, drawing her toward his sofa and getting her settled against the arm. “Do you like red leaf tea?”  
   
“Not so much,” she confessed. “This will sound weird, but...hot water? It's all we had at the camp. It's comforting sometimes.”  
   
He nodded and fetched her some from the replicator, gently pressing the mug into both her hands. When he was sure she had it, he took a seat close to her without touching her. She lifted it and sipped slowly, her eyes closing. “Better?” he asked.  
   
She nodded, continuing to drink. Without looking at him, she asked, “Have you ever...does it sometimes seem to you like...” she struggled to find the words. “Like...you know where you are, but you're somewhere else, too, and you can't tell the difference? I mean, you can't tell which one is real?”  
   
He frowned. It was a little known secret of his species that such forms of psychosis were possible. Outsiders sometimes criticized them for how thoroughly and harshly they trained their children's minds, having no idea what the alternative could be. “I'm afraid it's part of your Cardassian heritage,” he told her calmly.  
   
She eyed him quizzically. “I don't understand.”  
   
Of course none of the other Cardassians at the camp would have told her this. In their eyes, she was an orphan. Dukat was too self-absorbed, or perhaps she had kept it from him out of fear of being judged weak. It didn't matter why. She didn't know. “It's the way our brains are structured, the way we process memories. I'm going to hazard a guess and say that this other place that you find yourself is part of the labor camp, and it happens to you after that particular nightmare?”  
   
She nodded quickly, her fingers tightening around her mug.  
   
“Had you been raised as a Cardassian, you would have been given ways to cope with this from an early age. I truthfully don't know if you're too old for what I'm going to share with you to make a difference or not. I'm not saying this to frighten you or discourage you. I believe you have the right to know what you're dealing with. That's all.”  
   
She nodded again, the set of her shoulders starting to relax slightly. She took another sip of water. “I trust you,” she said.  
   
“That's a topic for another time,” he scolded lightly. “Come. Set your water aside. I don't want to have to put in a report for a shorted out computer interface for Chief O'Brien to ignore.”  
   
She did as he asked, her eyes flashing. “I'm not a child,” she snapped.  
   
He regarded her a moment. “No, you're not. This would be easier if you were.” He stood and beckoned her over. “This is going to take a little time.” He felt her eyes on him while he worked out the subspace signal to download a few files from the Ministry of Education on Cardassia. They weren't classified, but he knew if he wasn't careful, he would raise red flags just for having accessed them from outside Cardassian space.  
   
“I wish I could do what you do,” she said. “I don't have a head for technology.”  
   
How would she know what she had a head for? Her formative years were spent being hidden away from Dukat's enemies during the occupation, most of her teens in a labor camp where she had no opportunity at formal education. By Cardassian standards, she was hopelessly wasted potential. He felt a flash of anger at Dukat.  
   
“Did I say something wrong?” she asked, shrinking away from him.  
   
She was a little antenna, picking up every emotion he threw off. It was unsettling how easily she read his feelings but not his motives. “No,” he said. “I'm not angry with you.”  
   
“Then who?” she asked, moving back to his side cautiously and peering over his shoulder.  
   
“It doesn't matter. Ah, here we go.” He moved away from the computer to his sideboard and pulled an empty data rod from a drawer. Returning, he inserted it and copied what he had retrieved for her. He ejected it and offered it to her. “Needless to say, keep the fact that you have this to yourself, particularly from any other Cardassians, including your father.”  
   
She paused halfway into reaching for it. “You...want me to hide this from Father?” she asked, uncertainty creasing her features.  
   
_Damn him thrice over,_  he thought angrily. “Yes,” he said, doing his best to hide the emotion from her. “Because if he knows you have it, he's going to ask where it came from.”  
   
Understanding dawned. “He'd be mad at you,” she said, hesitantly taking the rod.  
   
“I don't care if he gets angry with me,” he said, having to fight not to grit his teeth. “It's the people at the Ministry of Education I'm concerned about. If he finds they had a security breach, it could go badly for them. He won't care if you benefited from it.” He wasn't even sure he would see it as a benefit. Who knew what twisted standards the man had for his daughter?  
   
She slipped the rod into a deep pocket at the side of her voluminous dress skirt. “I wish you wouldn't say such things,” she said, pouting slightly.  
   
“I'm telling you the truth,” he grated.  
   
She tossed her head, another flash in dark blue eyes. “In one breath, you tell me I shouldn't trust you, and in the next breath you tell me I should. What you seem to mean is that I shouldn't trust you unless it's convenient for you.”  
   
“What possible motive could I have in turning you against your father?” he asked. It was growing more difficult to keep his voice even. She could be infuriating when she had a mind to.  
   
“You don't like him,” she said simply. “I'd go so far as to say you hate him, and I know it's mutual. I'm not stupid. I spent enough time on Cardassia to see how things like that work, and I wouldn't put it past either of you to use me to get at the other.”  
   
“Then tell me, Ziyal, in your infinite wisdom, how would it hurt your father to know I gave you a rod of information downloaded from the Ministry of Education to try to help you stop having waking nightmares? I'd love to hear this.” He glared at her.  
   
He thought for just a moment that she intended to go toe to toe with him all the way in this sudden verbal altercation, her fists tightening at her sides. In the next moment she deflated slightly and shook her head, frowning. “I must seem like such an ingrate. I awaken you in the middle of the night and then call you a liar in your own home when you're trying to help me. I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm protective of my father.”  
   
_Wasted effort,_  he thought with another wave of anger. “I can understand that,” he said, the issue hitting too close to home for comfort. How many times had he defended Tain when he hardly deserved it? Why was it that fathers had such a gravitational pull on their children? “I can't force you to accept me at my word. If you want to assume I'm lying when I say this, feel free. It probably won't make a difference either way. I have no intention of using you to get at your father.”  
   
She studied him, tilting her head. She smiled a slight, grim smile. “I believe you, only because you didn't say you have no intention of getting at him at all.”  
   
He returned the smile. “Smart girl. You seem to be feeling better. Will you be able to spend the rest of the night alone, or do you need to stay here?”  
   
“If it's all right, I'd prefer to stay here. I can start looking over the material you downloaded for me. There's no way I could go back to sleep. If you want to, I promise I'll be quiet.”  
   
He nodded slowly, considering the timing before saying what he knew needed to be said. “I'll allow it tonight because of the circumstances. This won't happen again. If you come to me again at night when Major Kira is away, I'm going to take you to Leeta as soon as she gets off work.”  
   
“Why?” she asked.  
   
He saw guile in the question. She wasn't quite as innocent as she liked to seem. “Do you truly want me to spell this out?” he asked, warning in his tone.  
   
She dropped her gaze. “I know you think it's just a stupid crush. It's what Nerys thinks. It's not, and it's not fair for you to dismiss it like that just because I'm younger than you.”  
   
Why did she have to push him to this? He frowned coldly. “I never said it was a crush, Ziyal,” he said harshly. “I'm just not interested.” She gaped at him for the span of half a breath, then turned and fled. She danced two steps in place while waiting for the door to open for her, and was gone from view before it could close again. “Damn it,” he said to the empty air. He returned to his comm and punched in the number for security.  
   
Odo's taciturn features filled his screen. “Garak?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.  
   
“It may be nothing, Constable,” he said. “Ziyal just left my quarters somewhat...distraught. With Major Kira off the station, I'm not certain where she might go or what she might do. After the scare with Chief O'Brien, I'd rather be safe than sorry.”  
   
Odo folded his arms, his eyes narrowing further. “It's very late for Ziyal to have been in your quarters,” he said suspiciously.  
   
“A point I made rather...harshly,” Garak said, frowning.  
   
Odo's expression eased. “I understand,” he said. “I'll keep an eye out for her on the security feeds. I won't let anything happen to her.”  
   
“Thank you, Constable,” Garak said, inclining his head. He cut the feed and returned to his bed. He had done everything he could do. Following her was out of the question. He had to be certain she got the message loud and clear. It was better to take care of things early on than to allow them to develop further and hurt her even more. While he took no pleasure in what he had done, it didn't cause him to lose sleep. Doing what was necessary rarely did.  
   
He had breakfast with Odo the next morning and went to work afterward. He lunched alone, intending to fill the rest of his afternoon with ordering new material and stay after hours doing inventory. Unlike most people he knew, he took simple pleasure in the exacting attention required for the task. He viewed it with anticipation rather than dread. About five minutes before closing time, Ziyal stepped through his doors. “Good afternoon,” he said pleasantly. He privately hoped she didn't intend to cause a scene.  
   
She inclined her head and stepped up to his counter, her expression as carefully schooled as he had ever seen it. “I can't help how I feel,” she said, holding up a hand to keep him from interrupting her. “I can...control how I act, though. I won't embarrass you or push myself on you. Do you think you can be patient with me?”  
   
He nodded. “I enjoy your company. I'd like to continue enjoying it, as long as you understand propriety. I realize there may be things you don't know about how things work here or how people are expected to relate. If you're in doubt, you can ask me. I'll do my best to help you.”  
   
She seemed to relax a little. “So...we're OK?”  
   
“We're OK,” he said, nodding again. Of all of the people on the station for her to get attached to, why one of the least equipped to give her the support she needed, he wondered. He had never considered himself the fatherly type. It was perplexing.  
   
She smiled and dipped her head. “Good. I'm sorry if I upset you last night.”  
   
“You didn't,” he said, smiling slightly.  
   
She hesitated then offered a palm to press across the counter. He returned the gesture. “I'd better go,” she said. “I'm meeting Odo for dinner. When Nerys gets back, we'll have you over, OK?”  
   
Odo? That was interesting. He wondered how much of this current exchange had to do with the Constable and whether he had spoken to the girl the night before. It made sense to him to think that he had. He could offer the right perspective on her situation. He inclined his head graciously. “I look forward to it, dear,” he said lightly. He watched her leave much lighter of step than when she had entered. It was so strange to see someone who looked so Cardassian acting so not. He wasn't convinced the entire issue had been set aside, but he was glad that she at least seemed willing to try. Time would tell.  
   
_The Docking Ring_  
   
It was an interesting grouping waiting just outside the runabout landing pad, Garak considered, Ziyal, Leeta, and Captain Sisko in addition to himself. He wondered if the captain was there on official business or just wanted to greet his good friend Dax after a week long absence and a tough time adjusting to the arrest of his lover for her Maquis associations. Ziyal was there for Kira, he and Leeta for Julian. He felt disinclined to speak in front of Captain Sisko. Leeta and Ziyal whispered back and forth to one another, giggling sporadically.  
   
The airlock rolled back with a pronounced hiss and Dax and Kira approached the small grouping down the narrow corridor. “Nerys!” Ziyal said, waving and smiling.  
   
Kira smiled warmly and glanced at Dax. The taller Trill nodded subtly at her. The Bajoran woman hurried forward the rest of the way and caught Ziyal up in a quick hug. “I missed you,” she said. She shot a side glance at Leeta and Garak, looked back to Dax, and settled her arm around Ziyal's shoulders with her free hand to her duffel strap on her shoulder. “Have you finished any paintings?” she asked, starting to lead the girl away.  
   
Ziyal glanced once over her shoulder at Garak and Leeta and allowed Kira to lead her with her. “Only one,” she said, their voices fading as they retreated. “I'm not completely happy with it...”  
   
“Benjamin,” Dax said, giving the captain a quick hug, “can I catch up with you in a few? There's a lot I need to tell you, but...” she gestured slightly at Leeta.  
   
Sisko nodded. “All right, Old Man,” he said. “I'll see you in my office.” He nodded in Garak's and Leeta's direction and turned on the ball of his foot, striding away.  
   
Leeta had unconsciously taken Garak's hand. Her grip was painfully tight. Dax offered both of them an apologetic smile. “Julian is OK,” she said. “He's just delayed.”  
   
“Delayed?” Leeta asked. Her grip had yet to loosen, and her nails bit his palm. He barely noticed, his attention on Dax.  
   
The Trill scientist nodded. “We received a distress signal. It's a long story, and it's likely at least some of it will be classified. Suffice it to say that his medical expertise was needed, so he elected to stay behind.”  
   
“For how long?” she asked.  
   
Dax looked uncomfortable. “I don't know. He's supposed to call us when he's ready for us to come get him.”  
   
Leeta's voice rose in pitch and volume. “Is he safe? Can you at least tell me that?”  
   
“Reasonably,” Dax replied. “Leeta, you know I'd tell you more if I could.”  
   
“Is my presence constraining you?” Garak asked suddenly.  
   
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I can't share detailed mission information with any civilian. It's not you specifically. Now, I'm sorry, but I need to brief Benjamin.”  
   
Leeta stepped aside and allowed Dax to pass. She realized what she was doing to his hand and released him, frowning deeply and watching the woman's retreat. She muttered an obscenity he never thought to hear from her. “We may as well go,” she said, her voice venom laced, “for all the good it did for us to be here. Reasonably safe? Kosst, what is that supposed to mean?”  
   
“I don't know,” he said. “However, I don't believe that either Major Kira or Commander Dax would abandon Julian in the Gamma Quadrant if they thought it would get him killed. He's probably safer without the runabout to give his position away.”  
   
“Now you're willing to be trusting?” she asked angrily.  
   
He knew it wasn't directed at him. He was only the convenient target. “What choice do I have? Would you like for me to steal the runabout and fly it back to the last known coordinates? Forcibly transport Julian from wherever he is and bring him back?”  
   
“Would I like you to? Yeah, but you and I both know that won't happen.” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. “I took the night off. Now I wish I hadn't. I'd at least have something to do besides worry.”  
   
“Rom is off tonight. We could go get him, and the two of you could combine your Kotra skills against me. If that's not sufficient to occupy your mind, then you're not doing the game justice,” he offered. He knew it wasn't ideal. He wasn't pleased with the situation, himself.  
   
“All right,” she said with little enthusiasm. “Let's do it, but only if there will be kanar.”  
   
“Should I remind you what happened to you the last time you drank kanar?” he asked, offering her his arm.  
   
“No. It has been long enough that my body has forgotten,” she said, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I'll let it remind me.”  
   
“As you wish,” he said, inclining his head. He was hardly one to criticize anyone for the creative application of substances to deal with that which she was not ready to face.  
   
Days dragged to weeks with no word from Julian to Garak's knowledge. After the first week and a half he ran out of comforting platitudes for himself. By the third week, he was almost as inwardly distressed as Leeta was outwardly. She fumed, railed, and occasionally cried enough for the both of them. He went about his business outwardly calm and comforted her as he could, socialized in his usual patterns, made good on his promise to teach Kira and Ziyal Kotra, yet he couldn't help but to wonder if the doctor had finally reached the point in his career where the danger outweighed his ability to cope. It was infuriating being unable to ask anyone who might know. After a night of thorough worming through the station systems, he drew the conclusion that there was no news to be had.

**Part IV**

_Garak's Clothiers_  
   
It was nearly a month without word about the doctor, and Garak felt that he was growing philosophical about the situation. It wouldn't be his first loss. Life in Starfleet might be safer than in, say, Central Command, certainly safer than the life of an agent. It didn't mean they didn't face dangers, particularly in places like the Gamma Quadrant. For all he knew, Julian was long dead, and it was classified information. He couldn't expect that anyone would come running to him to inform him of the man's demise. Why would they?  
   
He mulled the unpleasant thought and tried to connect to it on a level beyond intellect. Emotion refused to come.  _Because no matter what I like to say, I'm an optimist at heart,_  he thought ruefully.  _Without proof or a body, I'm no more willing to accept that he's gone than I am the missing Cardassian cruisers and Romulan Warbirds._  When had that happened? When had he begun clinging to hope?  
   
A flash of red in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He looked toward his shop entrance from his task of arranging a sale rack. “Major,” he said, “if you can wait just one moment, I'll be right with you.”  
   
“I'm not here to shop,” Kira said, striding closer. She looked displeased. He wracked his brain for what he could have done to bring this on. To his knowledge, she was no longer dead set against his socializing with Ziyal, nor had he conspired to spend alone time with the girl. “After my conversation with Leeta, I'm going to assume that Julian hasn't contacted you, either.”  
   
Garak's hand stilled on the rack. “No,” he said, somehow finding a normal tone of voice with which to respond.  
   
“He's back,” she said quickly. “Safe. He returned late last night. I guess...I guess he's too focused on his work to step out of the lab right now. I thought Leeta already knew, or I wouldn't have said anything to her, but since I did, I figured I should say something to you, too, so you won't be caught flat footed if she comes to talk to you about it. She's pretty upset.”  
   
“I imagine so,” he said mildly. “Thank you for your courtesy.”  
   
Kira dipped her chin. “I can't stay. I've got to get to Ops. Are you all right?”  
   
“Yes, Major. Is there a reason I shouldn't be?” he asked.  
   
She didn't answer him, taking two steps back before turning and leaving the shop. He watched her go. Less than a minute later, he followed in her wake, although his path took him not to Ops, but the infirmary. As he walked, he reached out with his senses, feeling the flow of traffic on the Promenade and beneath it the ever-present thrum of the station, the metals and synthetics that composed its skeleton and skin, the sensors and lights that gave it life and breath. He adjusted himself to that ambiance, adopted it within himself until he was just one more aspect of the station. The nurses didn't lift their heads from their stations when he entered the double doorway leading into their domain. They sensed nothing, because he gave them nothing to sense, nothing to catch in their periphery, nothing to feel.  
   
Unseen, he walked down the short corridor, looking into two labs before finding Julian in the third. He stepped through the doorway and stood close to the wall, watching the man doggedly working with test tubes and the computer. He recognized that drive. He had no idea what had prompted it, nor did he need to. Something had fundamentally changed for Julian during the month he was away. Until he could satisfy himself and the inner need prompting his methodical testing, there would be nothing for anyone else. The work would be his life, his life the work.  
   
He could tell the younger man so much about what he was doing, what choice he was making and where it would lead. He could lay open a broken life as an example and ask him if it was worth the price. He had once been driven in much the same way, if to a less benign cause. He had battered himself against an unattainable ideal and fallen aside, his wings crippled and his ambition burned out before his life. He said nothing, because he knew that Julian wouldn't listen. Moths never did. They had to find out for themselves how thick the glass around the light was and what the heat would do to them eventually.  
   
Garak shook his head slightly and left the infirmary with the same stealth he used to breach it. There was nothing he could do for Julian, nothing the man needed from him, not while he was still flying, not while he thought he couldn't fall. He was luckier than Garak had been. Someone else had paved the way before him to the ground and was prepared to help mitigate the damage when it came.  _When,_  Garak knew, _not if._  He returned to his shop, not at all surprised to find the other unfortunate third of the equation waiting for him. He reminded himself to thank Kira more sincerely the next time he saw her. She spared him from being taken off guard by this.  
   
“He let you talk to him?” Leeta demanded, both fists balled.  
   
“No,” he said. “I didn't try.” He could tell by her expression that she had, only to be turned away. That was the other trap of the light. It blinded the moths to the rest of their options, even the attractive ones.  
   
“I don't understand. How could he not give a damn? We sit here, wait, and worry for a month, almost a whole month, and he can't be bothered even to let us know he's alive? If Nerys hadn't just been making conversation, I still wouldn't know he was here.”  
   
“No matter what else he is, he's a doctor first, my dear. You know that,” he said.  
   
“You're defending him?” she snapped, glaring at him with the too bright eyes of unshed tears.  
   
“No. There's no implied defense in a simple fact. Julian is what he is,” he said.  
   
“I don't see how you can be so calm,” she said, stepping closer, her entire body thrumming with barely suppressed rage. It didn't take someone with his skill to see what she was hiding from herself beneath it. “He has been just as thoughtless of you.”  
   
“It's not personal,” he said.  
   
“I don't see things the way you do, either of you.” She turned away from him. “Your military and Cardassian sensibilities, your devotion to concepts over people.”  
   
“Do you truly believe a concept kept him in the Gamma Quadrant for all that time without a word to anyone? That he's sequestered in that lab working over an ideal? Leeta, you're smarter than that.”  
   
“I suppose I'm more selfish than you are. I need to feel like I matter, too. I need to feel like a priority, not like somebody crouched under the table waiting for scraps.” She lifted a hand to cover her mouth and hide the twist of her lips. The shame in her downcast eyes burned him. He realized she revealed more of herself than she intended with her word choice.  
   
He couldn't reach to her. It wasn't his way. He felt his throat close over the empty words of comfort. She spared him the conundrum and reached for him instead. He had the computer close and lock the doors as well as opaque the front of the shop. She didn't need an audience to her grief, and he didn't need witnesses to the fact that he couldn't withstand such outpourings completely unscathed.  
   
_Julian  
Habitat Level H-3_  
   
As he so often had in the past, Julian let his feet guide him to where he needed to be. The confrontation with Leeta had yet to sink in and touch him, everything she said, every accusation, suspended somewhere in the seemingly impenetrable, invisible field that had surrounded him ever since his patients began dying on the blighted world in the Gamma Quadrant, dying because of his arrogance and assumptions, his refusal to recognize the signs for what they were. The virus proved just as stubborn in his lab on Deep Space Nine as it had planet-side. Now the data rested in widespread colleagues' hands. He hoped that fresh eyes and fresh minds might untangle the Dominion's Gordian Knot or find a creative way to sever it. People were dying every day that the problem went unsolved.  
   
It seemed only fair that Garak should get his opportunity to dig at him. After all, he had gone just as ignored and slighted as Leeta. He knew it wasn't fair, what he had done to them. He also knew that given the chance to do it again, he'd make the same decision. He didn't expect them to understand. They weren't in Starfleet. They weren't doctors, and life was anything but fair.  
   
He rang the hail, surprised to find himself admitted fairly quickly. He found Garak seated at his computer interface. The Cardassian stood when he entered. He forced himself to hold the enigmatic blue gaze when he apologized. “I'm sorry I didn't contact you when I arrived. I should've.”  
   
Garak stepped away from his chair and gestured at his sofa. “Sit before you collapse,” he said.  
   
Warily, he did so, never taking his eyes off of the tailor. He waited for the barbs to start. Instead, Garak circled behind him to the replicator and ordered him Tarkalean tea just the way he liked it. He took the mug, frowning slightly and lifting it to sip. “You don't have to pretend you aren't angry just because I'm tired. I'm willing to hear you out.”  
   
“What if I'm not angry?” Garak asked, taking a seat near enough for him to reach out and touch him if he wished. “Are you willing to hear that?”  
   
Julian set his tea on a small table to the side and turned to face him, curling his knee up to make it easier. “I have a hard time believing it.”  
   
“There's so much you don't know about me,” the Cardassian said with a one shouldered shrug. “Don't get too excited. This isn't sharing time. All you need to know is that I understand why you went straight to work when you arrived home.”  
   
His frown and his confusion deepened. “Did someone tell you something? Have you been hacking files?”  
   
“I didn't say I know what happened. I said I know why you buried yourself in your work. Did you resolve your problem?”  
   
“No,” he said. “No, it's something...beyond me.” It grated to have to admit that. He had run into so few glass ceilings in his life that weren't self-imposed. It was hard to know how to cope with something truly beyond his control when the cost of failure was so high. “I've sent my research to some of the best medical minds in Starfleet. Maybe they'll succeed where I've failed.”  
   
“Maybe. Maybe they won't. Maybe a few months or years from now technology will advance. Maybe we'll all be shot to bits by Klingons or the Dominion tomorrow, and you won't have to think about it anymore,” Garak said.  
   
“Aren't you cheerful,” he said dryly.  
   
“My point is that what happens tomorrow is out of your control. All you have is right now. If you came for my anger or scorn, I'm sorry to disappoint you. I'm sure it would be a good fit to whatever you're telling yourself. I've never begrudged you your work or the time you spend on it. I would be a hypocrite if I did, and while many unflattering things can be said of me, I take particular pride that hypocrisy is not one of my flaws.”  
   
“No, it's not,” he agreed, reaching for one of the gray hands and drawing it to rest in his lap. He toyed with the man's fingers, eyes down turned to his distraction. “Do you remember the first time you ever...took out your anger on me?” he asked.  
   
Garak tensed at his side and withdrew his hand. “Yes,” he said warily.  
   
“Could you do it again?” he asked, lifting his gaze.  
   
“Were you not listening?” Garak asked, speaking more slowly as though Julian had suddenly lost access to some of his faculties. “I'm not angry with you. If you want someone who is, go to Leeta.”  
   
“I went to her first,” he said. “After all, she and I are in a relationship. Or rather...we were. I'm pretty certain that's over, or at least so close to it I doubt I can repair things sufficiently. You and I are just...what, Garak? What are we?” He enunciated every word precisely, watching keenly for any sign that he might be hitting his mark.  
   
“Done talking tonight,” the tailor said. “You're so tired you're not yourself. It would be cruel of me to let you do or say something you'll regret in this state.”  
   
“Cardassians are cruel, as you so often love to remind me in so many ways. I'm asking you to follow your natural proclivities. Giving you a chance to do what you do best with no consequence and no recrimination. In fact, you'd have my gratitude. Do you need me to give you a justification?” He stood from his seat and encroached on Garak's personal space where he was still seated.  
   
“Doctor,” Garak said with a touch of laughter in the word, “if I'm as cruel as you say, then denying you is exactly what I ought to do. Send you on your way, tell you to sleep it off, whatever this strange mood of yours is. What exactly is it you're asking of me? You want me to hurt you? To punish you for your perceived failure?”  
   
“I want to feel something,” he breathed. “I know it's in here, somewhere. I can't find it. Leeta was screaming at me, and I just found myself astonished that her face could get so red. People are dying, and I'm supposed to feel something about that. It's supposed to matter. Elim...you know how to break people. I...”  
   
Garak stood abruptly, putting them chest to chest thanks to Julian's proximity. His eyes were hooded, his hands on Julian's back and the back of his head gentle. “You don't want my cruelty,” he all but crooned in his ear. “It's just that you know that no one else can do this for you. Would do it. Not your good friend Dax. Not your dutiful captain, your sycophantic engineer, your enraged girlfriend. You asked me what we are. You tell me, Doctor. What are we?”  
   
“I don't know,” he whispered. “All I know is that you're the only person I've never been able to walk away from for good, and you're the only person who can help me right now. Will you do it?”  
   
“Only because you asked so very nicely,” the Cardassian replied, the light in his eyes revealing the lie in the gentle hands.  
   
His mouth, his body, rough scales and sharp teeth, Garak was the perfect instrument, as fine and precise as any scalpel, for cutting into the hard shell encasing the doctor within himself and drawing him out, fragile, and bawling, and blinded by too much light. He withdrew him to the dark lair of the bedroom. He did his best work in darkness, and Julian knew that was part of his genius, that he always seemed to know on some level what it would take to burst all his barriers, knew that he was at his most free when he couldn't be seen clearly.  
   
His lover took him to that place beyond thought that he so rarely reached, borne on a sea of pain and shattered on the unforgiving shore of release. He felt scoured, inside and out, and after so much numbness, it was at the very outer limit of bearable. He fell into the black hole of sleep without ever quite managing to formulate coherence, his gratitude an abstract lodged in the limp curve of his lean body against his more solid aggressor.  
   
_Garak  
Private Quarters_  
   
The tailor trailed light fingers over sweat soaked skin, feeling the raised welts and puckered bruises of his night's work. He'd left nothing that would be visible in the hated uniform, quite careful and deliberate in his choices. He wanted his lover to have skin memory of this night for days to come. He knew that Julian would wrap himself in more comfortable distance when he awoke. He couldn't afford to remain as exposed as Garak had left him. He understood that, respected it. It didn't mean he intended to make it easy.  
   
He skimmed the surface of sleep, his doze as thin and fragile as a soap bubble and easily burst by the eventual stirring of the man at his side. Julian's lips brushed his chest, his hands restless over the scales of ribs and belly. Garak stretched from toes to fingertips and turned fully belly up for the light scratching.  
   
With a subtle shift, Julian settled atop him, limbs draped to his sides and chin resting in the teardrop indentation over his sternum. “Good morning,” he murmured.  
   
_It seems to be shaping that way,_  Garak thought. “Is it?” he asked, not quite ready to call up the lights to see his handiwork. He much preferred the opportunity he was being given to learn it through touch. Julian's soft hiss and tensing over him when his hands traced the scabbed lattice of his back had him smiling slightly to himself.  
   
“Yes and no,” the doctor said, snugging hands against Garak's sides and running them upward against the scaled growth pattern. It was Garak's turn to hiss. “Everything that was wrong is still wrong, but at least it's real now. All of it.” He snaked his tongue tip along the inverted curve, nipped at him with sharp incisors.  
   
“I suppose you need to rush out and face it head on,” Garak said, slipping his hands lower and letting his fingertips curve into the cleft of buttocks.  
   
“I feel that I have some unfinished business here,” he said. “You did me a favor.” He sank downward, his voice dropping in timbre. “I pay my debts.”  
   
The tailor hardly had it in himself to tell the man that he owed him nothing when he made such a persuasive argument. He gave over to the hungry, drawing mouth and greedy hands, pleasantly surprised to find their usual pattern of approach and retreat broken. His unspoken question of whether this was truly just a matter of honor was answered only after Julian made good on his promise and had him quivering with strong aftershocks. As the man lifted his head away from Garak's semi-flaccid cock, he reached up and pushed Garak's legs further apart and higher, raised himself, and took him in quick, slapping thrusts. “Computer, lights ten percent,” Garak said, wanting to see his face for this and gratified to find that this seemed to have nothing to do with the desperation of last night.  
   
Concentrating, he bore down, flashed teeth in a smile when the doctor's eyes rolled and his head dropped back. It was a messy awakening in an already soiled bed. As fastidious as he usually was, he discovered nothing to complain about. He would deal with his part of the other emotional mess later. This time was theirs. They put it to good use and parted on more open and amicable terms than was their wont.  
   
_Julian  
Leeta's Quarters_  
   
While seated on Leeta's sofa, Julian looked around her warm, inviting living area, feeling a sharp pang of regret that he wasn't likely to be welcome there again. The place was full of memories. He took care not to let his eyes linger any one place. They had both done their share of crying, this time thankfully minus the screaming. He felt drained and saw the emotion mirrored in her dark eyes.  
   
“Will you consider what I've asked you?” she asked, blowing her nose into a colorful handkerchief.  
   
“A...formal break-up?” he asked. “I don't know. It seems a little...morbid.”  
   
“Well, it would be if it meant sitting around bemoaning everything that went wrong,” she said, “but it's not like that. You celebrate what you meant to each other, everything you learned together, everything you got out of the relationship. It's very healing, and it would mean a great deal to me.”  
   
“All right,” he said. “It may be a while. I've still got a lot of missions coming up that I can't put off for personal reasons, no matter how much I wish that I could.”  
   
She nodded and drew her knees up, wrapping a loose arm around them. “I'll be patient. What would you think about doing it on Risa? I've always wanted to see it.”  
   
He hid another pang from her. Risa was a place for romantic beginnings and joyful interludes, not for breaking up with someone who you loved but weren't right for. “I'd like that,” he said. He realized all his time with Garak had made him a better liar. She didn't seem to catch even a whiff of the deception.  
   
“Good,” she said, dropping her gaze. “Come to me when you have the time for it. I don't want to have to keep asking you about it when you're busy.”  
   
“I wouldn't do that to you.” He frowned. “I know you have no reason to believe that after what I've put you through...”  
   
She shook her head and looked at him again. “Don't. I'm sorry, but I think I'd like for you to leave now. I don't want to rehash the past seventy-eight hours. I just want to take a long bath and go to bed. We'll talk more when you're ready for the trip.”  
   
“All right,” he said, standing. He wanted to hold her. As she remained seated on the couch, he realized that his desire was one sided. He spared both of them any more awkwardness and paused by the door to shoulder his small bag of belongings. “I'll see you soon, I'm sure,” he said and stepped out into the corridor.  
   
He winced and adjusted the strap over his abused shoulder, sparing no regret for the reason for the discomfort. It was one of the few positive things he could count in his life in just that moment. On his way to the turbolift, he received a hail over his comm badge from Major Kira. “Bashir here,” he said.  
   
“Julian,” Kira said, sounding a little uncertain, “did you forget?”  
   
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what she meant when it hit him: the mission to Torad Five! “Oh, God,” he said, “Major, I'm so sorry. Can you give me just...just twenty minutes? And pass along my sincere apology to Keiko? I...things have been a little hectic in the past few days. I'll be at the runabout pad as soon as I can.”  
   
“Understood, Doctor,” Kira said, her tone of voice softening slightly. “I'll see you there. Kira out.”  
   
He ran down the habitat ring and jumped a turbolift.  _Well, Julian, you said you wanted the challenge of the frontier,_  he thought. He wondered if he would ever have the chance again to feel as though his life were even partially his own or if he was finally falling into the trap that so many of his colleagues and friends had warned him about while he was in Starfleet med school, his job becoming his life.

**Author's Note:**

> First posted to LiveJournal on May 11, 2010, this story takes place shortly after “For the Cause” ends and ends shortly before “Body Parts” begins. This time around, I pretty much just wrote around episodes, not including any of them directly. It worked better that way.


End file.
